The Perils of Serendipity
by Ardent Apathy
Summary: No one of Nowhere.That's who she has been,is,and will be... or so that's the way it looks. But it's a strange phenomenon- the things you find when you're not looking. And stranger still, what finds you. Even then, truths are hardly genuine, and lies are more easily kept than given away. So is the way of the world, as she has come to know it. And the world is a hard thing to turn.


**Disclaimer:** **I own nothing of the concept for Middle-earth, nor its brilliant characters and story-arcs. All I claim are the hours I spent typing this and the idea for Raivierra's character.**

**Note****: As with my "Merlin" fanfic "A Woman of War, a Kingdom of strife", I intend for this to be a continuous story, roughly following the chain of events of the book and film (though I may take artistic license with some). It's a bit rough, but if ya'll like, please do kindly leave reviews—let me know if it's worth working on, yes?**

Battered leather boots padded softly against packed dirt, muffling their wearer's already light steps. Slow, steady breaths trickled between full and slightly parted lips. _Quiet _breaths. Body perpetually tensed—ready to unload the fervor of its toned physique at a moment's notice. Trained eyes scanned the edges of the encampment where the dark of the wood waited to spring an ambush. A high step over a sleeping, snoring form while the hems of a cloak swayed dangerously at the edge of the famished yet stubbornly-burning fire.

The chirping and skittering of the night critters had her constantly on alert. She wasn't fool enough to deny that the wilds housed many more dangers than the unconscious victims that lay strewn about her. She stooped to lift a small rucksack, edging its strap from underneath the shoulder a dozing man. Knapsack in her possession, she righted herself—freezing when a muffled voice flitted from the open mouth of her target. Her free hand dove inside the folds of her cloak, finding comfort in the hilt of the short sword that hung by her opposite hip, across from the longsword at the other. The man rolled to his side, lips smacking together… the snoring resumed. A wave of relief tempered her nerves and relaxed her grip. But the damage had been done. She had overstayed her welcome at this site. Already, she had looted six packs stuffed with travelling necessities and coin. Unfortunately not so much the latter. But she was too far from well-off to be getting picky.

Her legs carried her through the remainder of the camp, weaving nimbly between the bundled figures at her feet. Hissing softly at the well looked-after weapons that lay piled about. Good steel could fetch a handsome price, not to mention she could fancy a new blade of her own. Such a waste.

She gazed up the hill into the unintelligible darkness from which she neither heard nor saw anything. Not even the slightest whisper. But she knew he was there. Waiting for her. She hesitated. It was what more might lurk with him that gave her pause.

Too late.

"Your move." A growled challenge came from behind her, the tip of a tapered blade positioned at the middle of her back. She should have heard him—should have seen him. She had evaded and dispatched a good number of rogues that sought to return her selfish favors; and there was even that one time with that mean mottled wildcat that thought to make her his supper…so how had she been caught unawares?

No matter.

She turned to face the man, her hood still obscuring her face in shadow that the nearby fire's light could not lift. He was… not what she expected. His discernible silhouette was stocky in stature, the top of his head reaching her lips. Turning her gaze to where his face would be, she found just the whites of his eyes shifting—sizing her up.

"How'd you come across that, I wonder." The man's voice was falsely low and dangerous and mocking. Accusatory. He had beaten her at her own game. Seen everything.

Then the bag was in the air, its innards jingling and clanking. His eyes followed. Her longsword was in her main hand, cleaving down on the man. His sword was there to meet it. She bore hers down, taking hold of the hilt with both hands. He held his ground. Strong for his size. He grunted softly, pushing her blade up and away. Stronger than her. Making an opening. Before he could take advantage of his efforts, she drew in close to him and drove a savage knee into his chest. His sword flailed as he stumbled back, gasping like a landed fish and clutching at his chest. The tip of his blade skimmed the hardened leather carapace that encased most of her torso, adding another groove along its length. She closed and struck him above the ear with the pommel of her sword. He fell away.

Movement by her right flank. A deft step back had another adversary's attack catching air. A thrust of her left arm and a once-hidden knife slid down her forearm into her waiting grasp. She turned to meet the newcomer, leaping back to dodge the sweeping stroke of a weighted short sword. A cutting strike of her own barely deflected a second blade's assault. She answered with a backhanded slash up across his torso. Easily blocked by a slash. He cut across at her legs. She jumped—but not quite high enough. Cold metal bit at her lead knee, grazing the sensitive ligaments there. Her less than graceful landing sent a smart shock up her leg, and very nearly, a cry from her throat. She straightened up and cast her blade at the man's neck. Looking to steal his head. He ducked and she with him. A thrust from her offhand planted her knife high in the side of his right thigh, her opponent's long, braided hair tickling her forearm as she did so. He howled and pulled away.

"Fili!" Several gruff voices called out in alarm. The fire blazed and spawned offspring as torches were lit and handed off. The scuffle-turned-ruckus had finally woken the camp. Sound sleepers, it seemed.

One, five, nine… and more. And these little men hardly seemed like the amateurs she had grown accustomed to. Time to go. She lunged forward and pulled her blade from the man's thigh, eliciting a second (more angered than pained) yell. She maneuvered around him, seeking safety in the wood she sought to avoid just moments ago…

And tripped. Just as an arrow sailed over her head.

Her downed opponent had fallen back to grasp at her ankles. She kicked furiously at his large, calloused hands. The men came running. Beaconing torch lights charging at her. Finally freeing herself, she stumbled as she stood, favoring her right leg.

"Comeon!" A growl of frustration erupted from her throat. Just a few more meters to the wood. Just a few more meters before she'd be lost to them. Still crouched, she spun around. Set to run. But not a foot away stood the man she had first encountered. A gloved hand made impact with her temple in a low hook.

The light of the torches disappeared in an instant, yet still burned brightly. The chittering of those nocturnal critters fell silent, but they still trilled and skittered. Her eyes glazed as her mind went vacant. Her surroundings brimmed with the spirit of the night.

Her world slept.

* * *

When she came to, it was to the lightening of the sky behind her lids and the flaring warmth of the renewed fire. How many minutes had passed she did not know. What she did, was that she tasted dirt, her head throbbed, and her knee stung. Though the latter had numbed with the tight cloth wrapped around it.

Voices bickered over her.

"Well, I didn't _know_ it was a woman when I hit it," an embarrassed voice (with just a hint of a sandpaper scratch) blurted out. So he was the one… that bastard. "And you're forgetting. This woman was raiding our camp. What was I supposed to do?"

There was a moment of silence. "What I'm still figuring out…" a calm, husky voice cut through the still air, "is how a human woman got the upper hand on the both of you," a burst of laughter followed the teasing allegation.

Two…eight… thirteen different tones had joined in the laughter. One distinctly refined, relative to the others. Her odds weren't looking good.

"To our credit, I'd bet my right leg… she's not a novice at this type of work," a younger, stronger, yet just as smoky voice objected. Halfway through, he paused, as if clenching his jaw.

"She fights like a… like some…" the first voice struggled, searching for the proper wording.

"Watch what you say," the woman interjected with a warning, alerting them to her consciousness. She opened her eyes—their pale green irises flashing when she found her wrists tied and her ankles bound. She sat upright, using her strong core to raise herself. She tossed her head like a stallion throwing its forelock, freeing her eyes of the unkempt coffee-dark hair that had fallen over them in tangled waves that couldn't decide between being tight or loose.

The men, previously laxly gathered about, circled around her. Peering—no, more like _prodding _with their eyes. They scrutinized her very being—as if her being alert made a decisive difference in her impression. Some looked upon her with hesitant compassion, others with obvious aversion, and all with suspicion. She fixed her unfazed gaze on each of them in turn, staring them down. Almost all of her captors wore thick, untamed hair either atop their heads or on their faces —generally both; and more often than not, fashioned into the strangest styles. Their faces, most being leathery with age and toughened by cruel weather, bore protruding foreheads (was that an axe head embedded in one?) and bulbous or knotted noses… though there were a couple exceptions. Though the tallest of them hardly seemed like he'd reach mid-nose on her (considering her at about one and three quarter meters), save for the small(er) one that seemed out of place, they were all strongly built. That explained the trouble she had with them.

From what little experience with, and even less knowledge she had of their kind, she knew them to be the dwarves of legend. Hardly the stalwart warriors from the stories she'd been told. And far from the travelling traders she had encountered in more than a few towns. More like a band of hapless misfits that could scarcely belong anywhere they had been. Not too much unlike herself.

"I don't think you're in a position to be making demands," The first voice shot back, one brow raised at her audacity. It belonged to one of the taller ones. And seemingly younger ones; though she couldn't be sure with this bizarre troupe. His long dark hair and scruffy stubble complemented his chocolate eyes, which were now ever-so-slightly narrowed. Though the way his voice lifted proved it was out of curiosity rather than irritation.

"Return to me my blades, and try that line again," Raivierra cocked a brow as well, mimicking the man with unwavering brazenness—matching his steady gaze with her jade one, which he seemed to find markedly arresting with the contrast against her deep sun-bronzed skin.

That sent the men into a clamor of buzzes, guffaws, and hurrahs. Stranger still, how they seemed more impressed than offended by her lapses in propriety. Several seemed outright delighted.

The young man opposite of her was strung speechless. He tilted his head to the side; eyes locked on her and jaw hanging slack.

"Kili left without a thing to say? That'd be a first for my brother!" the blonde-braided man, whom she matched to the afore-mentioned name "Fili", tenderly stepped forward, wary of his hastily-mended leg, and slapped Kili on the back; eliciting yet more good-natured laughter from the company.

"Enough." A strong, low-pitched bark effortlessly commanded the attention of the company as a dwarf with tendrils of swept-back and aged dark hair tromped towards her. That made fourteen. And from the fur throw across his shoulders to the elaborate armor he wore, it was clear he headed the band of travelers.

"So," she drawled the one word, eyeing the man up and down. Taking note in particular of the impressive broadsword he carried. "Who are you supposed to be?" not once did she think to bite her tongue.

"He's Thorin Oak!—," the white-maned dwarf started in his own hoarse tone, but let it drop into silence the instant this 'Thorin' began speaking.

"Where do you go that brings you here?" The man crouched, though not far, to be eye-level with her. His booming voice turned dangerously low. Meant to unsettle her.

"Nowhere," she replied flatly. "And all the other places that'll have me," she tacked on in a vague explanation, having read the confused expressions of the dwarves regarding her initial response. Her answer made complete sense to her, yet it seemed to only further befuddle the dwarves.

"Speak plainly!" one dwarf, the one with the shiny and tattooed scalp- lacking where his fellows did not, stepped towards her, fist up and all.

"Uh, i-it means she's a nomad," the smallest one butted in, a soft and nervous voice floating from his direction. The way he stammered made him seem moreso a captive then the woman.

"That's a nice way to put it," the woman affirmed with a ribbing tone. If that's what they wanted to call it, who was she to deny them? This time her meaning rang clear, for the atmosphere tensed with uncertainty, and they saw her as the roaming scoundrel she was.

"She's no good, is what she is," she heard one disgruntled dwarf mutter to his companions. Kili was wrong. They hadn't forgotten.

"Your name, nomad?" Thorin's piercing crystal-blue eyes (especially striking on a dwarf and burdened by trials unknown to her) searched her face as he questioned her, watching for the slightest quiver of the lips or tick of the eye that might give away a lie.

"Raivierra. No one who'll be missed," her replies were calm and acknowledging—she gave the truth, after all. And it was that truth that warranted covert nods and dodged glances from the party.

"Who then, Raivierra, sent you?" the interrogating dwarf spoke her name with the same icy intensity that sat sunken under his jutting brow, demanding her cooperation.

"I answer to no one. I am here of my own accord," Raivierra replied coolly. Adamant about her unflappable front.

"Then do tell why," he made a sweeping gesture with both hands, "you thought to prey upon our—"

"Why do wolves hunt and horses graze?" she asked inquisitively in return, not caring to let him finish. From the corner of her eye she watched the faces of the other dwarves twist in bafflement. A few opened their mouths as if to answer the rhetorical question. That Kili still watched her. Eyes narrowed again. Intrigued. And then there was Thorin. Stoic. "It's nothing personal," she explained, surveying the small crowd once more. "Don't we all just take what we need?"

Around them, the dwarves seemed to take her words into consideration. The hat-wearing one beside Kili—the one with the outrageous handlebar mustache, pursed his lips and nodded his acknowledgement. Steel-blue eyes lit up and a grin slowly formed on Fili's face. His strong jaw turned to the side to direct an "I like her" to the men on his right. In fact, it seemed her claim had earned her credit amongst the crew with all but the timid little hobbit and Kili. The latter of which seemed too lost in his own mind at the moment.

"Take what you need?" Thorin asked in return in his own rhetorical tone.

"If you haven't noticed, all you've lost is coin and supplies," she inclined her head as she suggested the following, "I very well could have slain at least a handful of you in your sleep," the dwarves drew back a bit at that. "But I didn't think there'd be a reason to," the last bit took on an appealing tone, suggesting that sparing her would only fairly set them even.

Thorin lowered his head in thought. After a few moments, his dark eyes peered up at her from under his brow, "You've robbed us."

"That I have…" Raivierra responded slowly. Skeptically. That much had been made clear… what was he getting at? Her attention immediately went to inconspicuously working at the ties that bound her wrists.

"Quite skillfully, you did," Thorin's words were moreso a discussion with himself than a reply to the woman.

"…I suppose so..." she looked around at the faces encircling her. "Though I wouldn't say it was entirely successful," she grimaced at the last though. Captured by dwarves. That was a new one.

"You could have murdered us where we lay," again, Thorin seemed to not hear her as he muttered, considering the ground rather than her face.

Handlebar picked his way over to her, drawing the concerned attention of both Fili and Kili. He stood behind her, his expression hard-set when he looked down at her.

"Well then. That's all I needed to hear." Thorin shifted his gaze briefly to Raivierra, then let it rest on the dwarf standing beside her; bringing about the soft hum of steel being drawn from a sturdy leather scabbard.

"Wait a minute, Bofur. What _exactly_ has been decided?" It was Kili that spoke up. Though it bore no weight.

A nod from Thorin. A smirk from Bofur. Cold metal slid between her clammy hands.

Her bonds were severed.

"We could use you." Thorin stated matter-of-factly.

Raivierra shrugged off the loose ropes and cautiously shifted to a defensive crouch once Bofur had freed her ankles. Half expecting this to be some sick trick—to stand only to be struck down. "Am I missing something?" she asked as she rubbed her itchy wrists. "Because… I don't quite follow. At all, actually."

"I'm with the human on this one." Kili interjected again. "You're all mad! Use her? You want _her_ to join us?" he gestured exaggeratedly at Raivierra as his words came out all in a rush. The young dwarf was livid with indecision and his inability to sort his contrasting opinions, or to even set his thoughts straight. So that's what he had been doing. Weighing her, measuring her… and landing squarely where he started. Poor thing. "And when did this start seeming like a good idea?"

"Funny. Wasn't it you that was just concerned about this woman's fate?" Fili prodded, reveling in his brother's mental disarray. He turned his laughing eyes on Raivierra and flashed a charmingly broad smile that stretched from one ear to the other, "You must've gotten him pretty bad, over that thick head of his." It seemed he had forgotten his own misfortune by her hand.

"Actually, I'm fairly certain that was—and still is, me. Concerned with my own fate, that is," Raivierra cut in, saving a reddening Kili the effort. She stood then, little more than a head over dwarf king.

"Someone of your… _talents_… is exactly what we've been looking for." Thorin shot a sharp look at the little hobbit one with clothes pedantically unlike the rest of the crew. "I'd rather not settle for less."

Raivierra followed his gaze to the hobbit, simpering at how the fellow fidgeted uncomfortably under her focus. Surveying the whole of the group once more, she found that Fili's expression had proven contagious among a cluster of dwarves. Yet it happened so that the more forceful-looking dwarves (if ever a dwarf could intimidate her) scowled at her with open contempt. She looked back to Thorin, her chin tucked and eyes speaking her doubt before her mouth began to form the words, "You look a bit full up for my tastes."

"You'll manage," replied Thorin, dismissively waving her off.

A scoff escaped her now upturned lips along with an, "Is that so?" another incredulous sharp exhale accompanied a lick of the lips and a perplexed smile, "And am I to understand that you expect me to stay on for your benefit?"

"Didn't cross my mind," Thorin's pause briefly turned his attention to the white-haired dwarf before he continued on long-windedly, "Return our goods, stay on with us until your services aren't necessary, and you'll be duly compensated."

"And if I choose to take my leave before then?"

"The details can be worked out later. "

"Now," Raivierra pressed, before recognizing her situation, "…would be better."

"I can promise you trialing days and toilsome nights in the company of only the most intrepid troupe of dwarves," dwarven approval came in loud hoots and hollers at Thorin's appraising remark. "And, a solid fifteenth of the profits-if there're any to be had …what more, if you're still around."

Her laugh was sharp, cutting, and short, "As enticing as that sounds…" she paused, furrowing her brow as she recognized the way in which Thorin had left the mention of her absence open to interpretation. Had he been acknowledging her (probable) abandonment? Or removal by whom… or what? She referenced Thorin's impassive face, shaking her head and again letting lose that haughty scoff, "I don't have the time nor the desire to commit myself to a cause that may not harbor reward."

"Fine then. We'll make do without you taking ten fold the worth you found this night," came Thorin's nonchalant response, though a pleased smile tempted the corners of his mouth when Raivierra snapped to attention. "But we will be having our supplies back either way."

The menacing bald one and his red-crested friend seemed to take that as a cue to close in on her, fingers tickling the hilts of their weapons. Outnumbered, outmatched, and unarmed. Lovely. She spared a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Bofur had remained in place—she'd step back into him and throw an elbow back to his face to steal the dagger hanging in his slack grip. Her swords had been taken from her and knife lost, but the two daggers stuck snug in her boots could give her an easy out.

And yet…

Ten fold? What was it they were after such that he could make such a promise? It had crossed her mind at least a dozen times; what could the goal of this ragtag—pardon, 'intrepid troupe' be? And it'd be a change— the numbers with her for once. No. More importantly, was it small? This thing they sought? Some sort of gemmed treasure she could steal away with? And they'd lead her to it. It was only fair, right? She had learned that much. Take what you need and all that.

"Hold a moment," Raivierra held one hand up as she appealed to Thorin—body still primed to lash out if need be. A barked order from the dwarf set his overeager men back, "Dwalin" and "Gloin" among them, while others needed no such command. The burning fibers of her body doused themselves only to be set alight by the smug look worn by Thorin. The one that showed he already knew what she readied herself to say. That bastard. She dipped her head reluctantly at the rugged dwarf, much to the amusement of the others. "It seems… you have a way with words, dwarf," her words were forced, painfully stilted, and would land her in a trade bound to do her in. Not much of a change from the present then. "I'm with you. If you'll have me."

Thorin, with the stiffest of smiles, reached to clasp her forearm, giving it a good long squeeze, "We will. Gladly."

Raivierra smiled and nodded, withdrawing her less-than-sanitary hand from his brawny grasp to place her index and middle fingers in her mouth. She let out a low whistle, turning it up into a high-pitched note, followed by two short and no-less-loud bursts of that high note.

"What was that about?" Dwalin was instantly on alert and the first to draw his war hammer, turning about. As if the dwarf expected dark ravenous creatures to fall upon them at any given moment. Gloin followed suit with his battle axe, though it was clear he expected something more human, more reasonable- more like Raivierra to attack.

It was only when Thorin gave her a questioning look that she shrugged and took on a mocking tone, "You really thought me fool enough to come by these parts alone?"

"You didn't mention a friend," replied Thorin, taking on an edge in his voice as something rustled in the wood behind them.

"I couldn't be so sure as to lay all my cards on the table, now could I?" she cocked her brow along with the corner of her mouth and walked casually towards the ever-loudening racket that poured forth from the woodland. Several dwarves moved to collect her, but went to their armaments the moment a frenzied shriek cracked the waning darkness.

Something heavy methodically pounded the ground, grinding dry leaves and shattering limbs shed by the thick trees. Louder, faster; the spray of dirt thickly battering the trunks of trees. The creatures of the night scattered, squealing and squeaking in fright. Scrambling to avoid being trampled underfoot.

Something Kili very nearly was when the beast sprang out of the weald and into the campsite. It was soot black, bulky, and came up short before the man, planting its back hooves and rearing over the auburn-haired dwarf who had his loaded bow aimed squarely at the equine's chest.

A sharp tug by the neck of Kili's cloak had the young dwarf out of the way when the animated stallion brought his forelegs crashing down. Leaving Kili to pick himself up, Raivierra dauntlessly approached the horse—eagerly, even. Her main hand snatched his bobbing head by the chinstrap of his bridle, holding it stubbornly down at her level while her other soothingly stroked the horse's tangled, nappy neck. "Easy, love," she muttered with her lips near his cheek.

The brute's ears flicked and swiveled responsively, seeking her voice, and his dancing legs slowed to a stop in their show. But his wild eyes couldn't ignore the sharpened metal directed his way. Two angry stomps and a scream broke Raivierra's grip with a toss of his massive head.

The horse wasn't alone in his discomfort. "What _is _that?" Kili croaked as he rose to his feet, dusting himself free of soil and wounded pride.

"Knock it off, Loki. You're fine," again, her softened voice went to the stallion, though this time it was moreso a command. Having her horse well underhand, she looked back to Thorin rather than her asker, a cocky smirk playing across her lips and into her voice, "My winning hand."

"Some monster, that is," one of the grey-haired dwarves mentioned to his likewise friend.

Raivierra suppressed an open smile at hearing those words and other whispers shared amongst the dwarves. They had good reason to be uneasy. At eighteen and a half hands at the shoulder and thickset with corded musculature, a strike like the one missed by Kili could easily crush someone far larger than a dwarf. "And your pots and forks and… what have you," she continued, drawing their attention to the back of the horse, from which she pulled a hefty saddlebag that had been thrown across his hindquarters.

It was Kili who claimed it from her, being nearest. His hand grabbed hers as she dumped the load into his waiting arms, getting her attention. "Got any more of those secrets? Surprises?" Kili's voice was quiet and all the more apprehensive. The clenching and unclenching of his bristly jaw told it all. For all his dissecting of her, he still had next to nothing to go on. And the way Raivierra had been talking in patterns served him little. But it was his curiosity that compelled him—much as it did her.

"They'd hardly be either one if I told you now."

Surprises? None—at least, not yet. Secrets? Oh yes, aplenty. But not out there; those ones didn't wait in the dark eclipse to terrorize the unsuspecting.

Those she carried with her.

'**Nother Note****: I do hope ya'll enjoyed. I can't shake this nagging feeling that some of this scene is off or awkward, so critiques and suggestions for adjustments are always more than welcome (as are reviews, of course )! If there's interest, I'll stay on. Thank ya'll. =)**

**Also… for my other readers that have been following the aforementioned fanfic (Merlin), yes, I am back, and yes I do pretty much know where I want to go with that fic (or, atleast, I **_**did**_**… then the finale happened :/). I was just having a hard time getting the chapters out, putting them in the right wording and all that to properly fit what all was playing out in my head. However, now, I'm a little put off it by the finale. But I do still have the outlines and drafts for several chapters and scenes that I definitely want to get done. I feel bad for saying it since ya'll have been waiting for quite some time, but a little more patience on it, please! **


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